Willpower Over Empathy
by darkbluesharpie
Summary: Dean was an Empath. He could alter the emotions and thought patterns of others through direct skin contact. It came in handy, sure, but there was always that thin line. Because when you have the ability to force anyone to bend to your will, to make it impossible for anyone to tell you no, it was like the ultimate forbidden fruit- one taste, and you're addicted.


**Title**: Willpower Over Empathy  
**Pairing**: Dean/Castiel  
**Rating**: NC-17  
**Warnings**: super powers, Empaths, Healers, people abusing their powers, emotional manipulation, control, mind-bending, minor canon character death, sexual content, like a lot of sexual content, switching, sort-of a dystopia-twist ending  
**Summary**: Dean was an Empath. Or, at least, a rare variation of one. He could alter the emotions and thought patterns of others through direct skin contact. It came in handy, sure, but there was always that thin line, and he feared he would lose himself should he step over it. Because when you have the ability to force anyone to bend to your will, to make it impossible for anyone to tell you "no," it was like the ultimate forbidden fruit- one taste, and you're addicted.  
**Author's Notes**: I am terrible at plot, so forgive me if there are holes, or places where it is lacking or seems rushed, I am practicing. There will be a lot of explicit content in this story in later chapters, and I will give appropriate warnings to it before each chapter.  
**Spoilers**: I took moments from all over the series and put them in here. There are small spoilers from almost every season, so heads up.  
**Disclaimer**: I own nothing, nor do I make any profits from this story. I hope you guys like it. I apologize for any grammatical issues and misspellings, this is unbeta'd.

* * *

_The four-year-old crept down the stairs and watched from the hallway. Two suitcases were packed and standing by the front door next to a car seat, where his baby brother lay sleeping, everything ready to go at a moment's notice. Mary moved about with sharp and quick motions that would look frantic on anyone else, but made her appear determined and self-assured. As if suddenly sensing his gaze, Mary stopped and composed herself before turning to her son._

_"Dean," she said, her voice strict but without any heat. "S__weetie, _I told you to wait upstairs. Mommy will come get you when when we're ready, okay?"

_"Where are we going?"_

_Mary sighed before walking over to Dean, kneeling down so she was closer to his eye-level. She took his head in her hands and smiled. "We're gonna go on a small trip, just the three of us."_

_"What about Daddy?" Dean murmured. "We can't leave him."_

_Mary's smile faded a little, before forcing a fake one for her son. "Mommy and Daddy need some time apart right now, okay?"_

_"Don't you love Daddy?"_

_There was a long pause, before Mary__ leaned down to wrap her arms around him, making the boy feel safe and warm in her hug. When she pulled back, her eyes were wet, and heavy with sadness that she failed to keep her son from seeing. _"Mommy's not happy here, sweetie."

_Not happy. Was that the problem? If he fixed it, would that mean they could stay? Family needed to stay together. "I can make you happy, Mommy."_

_Dean's hands moved up to her face. He knew he shouldn't, knew it was wrong, but that didn't stop him as he watched her eyes light up. They turned to a clear, brilliant blue, serene and loving. He liked that color. Mary covered his hands with hers as she smiled at him, and Dean knew she was happy now. Her eyes were so bright, a beautiful blue, and when he looked at them, he felt safe. He needed her to stay, and he knew now that she would. Their family would always be together. __As long as he kept her happy, they could stay._  


_"Don't leave, Mommy," Dean whispered. "I need you."_

_"I know, Dean," Mary sighed. "I'll stay. I need you, too."_

* * *

They were close.

Their long week of tracking and interrogating was finally about to pay off. Of course, interrogation wasn't exactly an arduous task for the Winchesters; they had a rather unique set of skills that made their targets quite cooperative. No torture necessary, though Dean might throw in a punch every now and again for good measure.

Dean slowed to a stop. Taking cover behind a large tree, he craned his neck to see the abandoned house, but spotted no signs of disturbance. It didn't bother him, though- if he trusted in anything, it was Sam's ability to track. The lack of evidence of their quarry only meant he was adequate at concealing himself. Dean turned back and faced Sam, visible by the full moon in the dark sky.

"This the place?" he asked. A curt nod from his brother was all the confirmation he needed.

"He's off-guard, tired," Sam continued, not bothering to check the area behind the tree- he didn't need to. "He won't be expecting us, but we should still keep an eye open for traps."

Letting Sam take the lead (as he always did on pursuits like this), they approached the desolate house. The empty windows still held jagged glass in their frames, and the walls gave the impression of a gradual cave in. Overgrown plants covered most of the small building, the walls grimy with moss, with the surrounding area thick with weeds. There was an eery feel in the air surrounding the decaying structure, a strong sense of foreboding, and impending danger. Not that the brothers paid it any mind. Dean followed Sam as he weaved around to the back, where a door was crudely shoved back into it's frame.

Sam pushed hard against the door, and it fell easily away before he grabbed it, and leaned it against the adjacent wall. Were he with anyone else, Dean would have scolded him for being so reckless and loud; they were, after all, chasing after someone with much needed valuable intel, who was clearly good at running and hiding, and would likely take off again should intruders be detected. But he was with Sam, and if his little brother thought it wasn't necessary to be perfectly stealthy, then Dean knew better than to question it.

They were close now, and Sam could sense him.

"What's the reading on the mood-radar?" Dean whispered.

"Still relaxed, I think he's getting ready to sleep," Sam murmured back. "But we're close. Get ready."

In Sam's shadow, Dean removed the thin black gloves from his hands, rolling back the sleeves of his shirt to expose more skin as he followed. They were walking through a few rooms when they approached a closed door, separating them from the rest of the house, and Dean grabbed Sam's shoulder to stop him from proceeding through it. Atop the partially opened door, barely visible from this side, was a glass jar, designed to make plenty of noise upon falling should the door be moved. With a practiced hand, Sam inched his fingers through the sliver of an opening, holding the jar still, and catching it when he gently pushed the door open.

"Always knew it was good to keep a Sasquatch around," Dean murmured, following Sam through the door.

Turning to catch his brother's eye, Sam signed with his hands, too close to their target now to use his voice, "_He's through here_."

After a quick thumbs up, Dean proceeded down the hall behind his brother.

The stench of mildew and rotting wood became stronger with each step, and it was with well-trained feet- and maybe some luck- that kept them from trotting on a creaky floor board. They approached the wreckage that was once a living room, partially illuminated by the weak sliver of moonlight peaking in through a broken window. Lying on the floor in front of a moth-eaten couch that was missing it's cushions, was the prone form of a man, his back facing them.

Dean's eyes flickered to Sam for the signal, but stopped when he saw his brother's face.

Eyes unfocused, with a small look of confusion, Sam cocked his head to the side, as if listening to something only he could hear. After a brief moment, his expression turned to one of urgency, and signaled the cause of it to his brother.

"_Others are heading this way, they must be coming for him_."

Dean started, hand signing as fast as his could. "_Do you think they followed us_?"

"_Doesn't matter now, come on,_" Sam motioned for him to follow as they took shelter behind a caved-in bookcase.

Sure enough, not two minutes later, they could make out the sound of footsteps in the hallway. Dean kept his eyes on his brother's hands as Sam filled him in on what he couldn't hear.

"_They're excited_," Sam informed him. "_They might just try to take him back, but they shouldn't kill him_."

All they could do was wait as the scene unfolded. The men entered the room- two of them total, according to Sam- and flanked the man still laying on the floor. Sam's hands moved quickly to explain that he was no longer sleeping, but waiting...

Suddenly, they heard rough, quick movement, the sound of flesh hitting flesh, the thud of a body falling to the ground, and pained grunts. When everything went relatively still again, they could make out heavy panting on the other side of the bookcase. Through the smallest crack in the concealing furniture, Dean could see a fraction of what was playing out on the other side; the sleeping man- now wide awake- was on his hands and knees, clutching his stomach, while another stood over him. The second intruder was not in his line-of-sight, but Dean could guess he was injured, and likely on the ground.

A well placed kick to the stomach had the smaller man wheezing with pain, before the intruder grabbed him by the hair and pulled him to his knees, placing a knife to his throat.

"Your brother sends his regards," the standing man snarled. "You've had your vacation, it's time to come home."

"I'm not going back," their intended bit back. "I'll never go back to him."

"Have it your way."

"I wouldn't do that if I were you."

There was a sudden flurry of movement as all of the men in the room, (save a certain green-eyed man), turned towards Sam, a mingled look of shock and fear on their faces. Sam stepped out from the other side of the bookcase into the dim moonlight from the broken window. It was a cliched line, sure, and Sam didn't actually have anything to back it up, but this wasn't about accuracy, it was about stalling that knife from slitting open the throat of the only person who could give them certain information.

In the distraction of Sam's appearance, Dean crept stealthily behind the others. He didn't need to know Sam's intentions beforehand; they had worked so long together, it was like they were on the same wave length. As the others were all facing his brother, neither of the intruders noticed Dean until he had his bare hands on their necks.

With a look of concentration, Dean forced the feelings of calm and laziness through his palms, overdosing them with it until he felt the pair go lax in his grip. When he felt it was safe to, he released one, and gripped the other in a choke-hold until he passed out. Dean repeated the treatment on the other, neither putting up any resistance to his efforts to render them unconscious.

The only movement now came from the one they had tracked here, who had scrambled away from the two men when Dean had appeared from behind. He now stared transfixed at Dean, no doubt awed and confused by how easily he had taken the thugs out.

"Relax," came Sam's voice from the other side of the room, speaking to placate to startled man in front of them. "I know you're scared, but we're not going to hurt you. We're here to help."

"Who sent you?" the man demanded. "I'm not going back, stay away from me." He quickly made to grab the knife that had fallen to the floor, backing up to keep both brothers in his line-of-sight.

"We don't have time for this," Dean sighed, and before Sam could tell him not to, he moved towards the smaller man.

Years of training as his guide, Dean lunged forward, grabbing his wrist as the man made a swing at him with the knife. With a practiced motion, Dean twisted his arm until he heard the small gasp of pain, followed by the clatter of the knife hitting the ground. Placing his other hand under the man's chin, Dean turned his face towards him, projecting a different feeling through his skin.

Staring into his face, he watched as his work took effect; blue eyes gazed at him in shock, mixed with what Dean easily identified as fear, before they changed. As always when he did this, Dean watched with something close to awe as the man's eyes turned from a dark, dull color to a bright, clear blue, his look of fear replaced with that of trust.

The effect was instant, but Dean's touch lingered. There was something about that blue... it was new to him, but somehow still looked familiar. The thumb of the hand still holding the man's chin grazed his cheek just slightly, as he tried to place the recognition he felt.

Dean wasn't aware Sam had moved until he was standing right in front of him. After his brother awkwardly cleared his throat, Dean finally released baby-blues, averting his eyes from the man's continued stare of awe at Dean. Grabbing the man's shoulder gently, Sam turned him so they were facing each other; the stranger's stance was loose, and he wavered slightly when he was moved. He was perfectly relaxed.

"Like I said," Sam continued, as if uninterrupted. "We're here to help."

"Yes," the man nodded. "Yes, of course." He looked back over his shoulder at Dean. "I trust you."

When Dean turned to leave, the blue-eyed man followed him from the room willingly, as they knew he would. Sam kept close behind him, and the three of them made their way outside.

* * *

The end of the night found the three of them in the Winchester's safe house. With a look from Sam, Dean ducked out of the room- this part always went better when he wasn't around; the effect of his touch always lasted longer when he was near the victim, and they needed the blue-eyed stranger- Castiel, Dean reminded himself- to be able to think clearly. The first manipulation always left the receiver feeling a little off- unbalanced, and unable to fully focus- and if they were going to question him, he needed to be at 100% thinking capacity.

Dean checked his watch- it should be wearing off any moment now. Out of his brother's mood-detection range, but still within shouting distance, he was free to let his thoughts wander. They had handcuffed Castiel to a pipe in the wall- which he was more than happy to let them do- but Dean need not worry; Sam could handle himself should Castiel become uncooperative when Dean's influence wore off.

Dean's influence. He looked down at his empty palms- the gloves would return when the threat was gone, but for now, they might need him to touch Castiel again. He stared at his bare hands, recalling the warmth of their captive's skin on his fingertips, the content look he gave Dean as he was manipulated by him, how bright his eyes turned, how blue they were...

With a frown, Dean shoved his hands deep into the pockets of his jeans, continuing his walk around the yard of their safe house. It would be dawn soon, and the sky was turning just the slightest shade lighter, the air smelling crisp and clear and filled with the chirps of birds from the surrounding trees. A warm summer breeze rolled over him pleasantly as he walked, too deep in his thoughts to appreciate his surroundings.

It had been a little more than two hours since he had touched Castiel, and he knew that, without him near by, the blue-eyed man would be coming to his senses soon. Dean sincerely hoped Castiel would want to help them; they were, after all, on the same side, if you bought into that "the enemy of my enemy is my friend" nonsense. Hopefully, Castiel would concentrate on the fact that they helped him with those two thugs from earlier, and not on how they basically warped his mind and kidnapped him.

Hopefully.

It wasn't, however, their only option, should Castiel choose not to cooperate. As much as Dean didn't like it, he was their last resort, and would have to trick Castiel into talking should things go south. It was a sure way to get the info they needed, but it was always easier when their targets were willing.

Truth be told, Dean hated using his touch to force people to do what he wanted. Well, maybe not all the time; taking out the two jerks from earlier had been fun, and he loved being able to get waitresses to give him free burgers at his favorite diners, but other things- things like this- he hated. Forcing people out of their own honest, natural emotions- it was wrong. It always left a pit of guilt in his stomach.

Dean was an Empath. Or, at least, a rare variation of one. He could alter the emotions and thought patterns of others through direct skin contact, the effects of which wore off after a few hours, longer if he is present or touched them again. It came in handy, sure, but there was always that thin line, the one that was so easy and tempting to cross, the one he feared he would lose himself in should he step over it.

Because when you have the ability to force anyone to bend to your will, to make it impossible for anyone to tell you "no," it was like the ultimate forbidden fruit- one taste, and you're addicted, with no going back. It was challenging for Dean, to say the least.

Sam didn't have that problem. His younger brother was also an Empath, but of another, more common variation. He had the ability to sense the emotions of others from a distance, but couldn't project them like Dean. He could only be affected, he couldn't affect others. Couldn't hurt someone with his abilities, or have to fight the temptation to use them. Sam didn't have to fear himself, or what he might do if he let himself slip, even just a little. That burden was for Dean to bear, and Dean alone.

They made one hell of a team, though, playing off of each other. Sam lined them up, and Dean knocked them down. The younger Winchester could sense people's emotions, their guilt, whether or not they were lying, and the older one could make people tell the truth. Once they got what they needed, Dean could make people forget about them long enough to get out of town.

They were unstoppable together, and it was the main reason why so many people were after them.

The Winchester brothers had been on the run for a good many years now, occasionally stopping to help others in need with their special skills along the way. They had a bunch of organizations after them, as well as their own government for a short while. People born with "gifts," as they were commonly referred to, were rare, empaths doubly so, with Dean being a class of his own. Many coveted their abilities, and either wanted to throw them in a lab for study, or use them for their own gain.

_No-fucking-thank you_, Dean thought. When the men in suits first showed up at their house, Dean's first thought was of the X-Men; he imagined getting taken off to a school somewhere far away from "normal" people, to train with other kids that had super powers. Kids like him. A place where he would learn to control himself. A place where he could belong.

That was the first dream they crushed. It had been a spectacular escape, really, the men clearly having underestimated the 12-year-old. They didn't know about Sam (no one did, back then, except for Dean), and when his little brother told him the truth of why they were really there, what would really happen to him, Dean had lunged forward, grabbed them each by the wrist, and seared pure agony and fear into their flesh, leaving them to writhe on the ground while their father ran them out of the house.

They hadn't slowed down since.

The sky was fading into a lighter blue with sunrise maybe fifteen minutes away, when Dean heard the door of the safe house open and saw Sam waving him back. This was it. Dean knew enough about how his brother worked to pick up on patterns- he had been alone with Castiel for some time, and Dean was hopeful to what that implied; if Castiel refused to help them, if he were too angry or scared to talk to them, Sam would have sensed it immediately, and called Dean back right away.

"What's the verdict?" Dean asked upon reentering the small house, blocking off his emotions from Sam in a way only he could.

"He's in," Sam stated, locking the door behind him. "Turns out he hates his brother about as much as we do- maybe even more. And there's some other stuff, too, come on."

Sam lead the way to the stairs, taking them down to the basement-level room. The lights were on, illuminating the open space as Dean descended after Sam. The walls were a plain off-white color, devoid of decorations or personal items. A small, round table was pushed against the wall, it's accompanying chair relocated to stand in front of the small bed in the corner of the room opposite the stairs. The mattress sank under the weight of it's occupant, who sat in the middle of it.

No longer handcuffed, Dean was relieved to see Castiel was looking relaxed, eating one of their burgers from the mini-fridge. He looked up as Dean entered, and he stalled his steps slightly when their eyes met.

There was a small pause while Dean tried to gauge the man's reaction to seeing him again- he just didn't have the knack for it that Sam did; his brother had neglected to tell him just how much he had shared, whether he was comfortable with being around him again, and Dean didn't want to startle him with his return. Would he be upset with what Dean had done? Or afraid to have him near by? Would he ask him to keep his distance?

His brief worry was for nothing, as Castiel gave him a small smile around a mouthful of sandwich, that Dean humorously returned.

"Castiel, you remember Dean," Sam gave as the introduction.

"Yes," Castiel said, swallowing loudly, and raising his hand forward. "Hello, Dean."

Dean stared down at his outstretched hand.

"Hey there, Cas," Dean returned. He reached past his hand, opting to cuff him lightly on his shoulder instead. Where there was a sleeve. And not bare skin. An understanding expression on his face, Castiel lowered his hand again. Dean noticed his blue eyes (were beautiful and) still seemed bright. Surely Dean's influence should have worn off by now? Sam wouldn't have asked for him to return if he still sensed the after effect, right?

"I was just telling Castiel about our common interests," Sam chimed in, interrupting Dean's thoughts. "Specifically, our mutual disdain for Raphael."

"Oh yeah?" Dean said, pulling the other chair up to the bed, turning it backwards, and straddling the seat. Sensing it was safe to do so, Dean withdrew the thin black gloves from his back pocket and slipped them on before folding his arms over the back of the chair, and looking up at Castiel. "You're brother's a douche."

Castiel nodded, a barely-there smirk on his lips. "Trust me, you don't know the half of it."

From there, Sam clued him in on what he had missed, and what he had shared with their new ally. After Castiel had come to, and started to panic again, Sam tried to explain to him who they were, and why they had taken him. Apparently, all he had to say was, "We're Sam and Dean Winchester," and Castiel had stopped struggling. Sam could sense his disbelief, then his suspicion, followed by attentiveness. After a few short exchanges, he could tell Castiel not only believed him, but wanted to help.

For the better part of the past year, a man they knew only as Raphael had been chasing them down. They didn't know the exact reason, but they had kept their distance regardless. According to one of their less-than-willing sources, Raphael was gathering a group of strong, gifted followers-

"So that was true? He's looking for other freaks?"

"_People with abilities,_" Sam corrected, as Dean rolled his eyes.

-to join him. Word had spread about the Winchesters- what the brothers could do, and how they worked together. They were valuable assets, and he wanted them on his team. Raphael's group was large, and growing everyday, though, Castiel assured them, many of his 'followers' were only as loyal as the blackmail and threats Raphael held over them. Those that refused him were usually killed.

Castiel had been a part of his group until last month. He knew about the Winchesters as more than just rumors, as he was working right in his brother's inner circle, and had direct access to Raphael's schemes and resources. When the plan was put in place to locate and track down the brothers, Castiel had been there to hear the order. His older brother had sent follower after follower to find them, and they all either came back empty handed, or went missing. Castiel knew how much Raphael wanted the Winchesters, had heard how they kept escaping him, how bringing them either into the fold or hunting them down was of utmost priority.

And yet, here they where- tracking Castiel down instead. Funny how things play out like that.

Other rumors had spread. Rumors that Raphael's own brother- one of the most loyal in his family- had turned against him. It was one such rumor that the older Winchester had pulled out of another of Raphael's men that had managed to track them down. When they learned of this "Castiel," the loyal younger brother who had escaped Raphael, they began to search for him, in hopes that he could give them some much needed information.

When Dean was all caught up and everyone was on the same page, the questions began, and the Winchesters turned to Castiel for some answers. They listened attentively as he told his story of what had been going on. Turned out, there was a time when Raphael wasn't a homicidal psycho and kept his place, but when their oldest brother, Michael, died-

"-he snapped." Castiel explained. "He's always been power hungry, and without Michael there to stop him, he went crazy with it. Started manipulating people into following him, threatening people- then he started killing, it was out of control. The rest of my family were all too afraid to speak out against him, so it came down to me. I thought I might have been able to keep him under control, to reason with him, but when I tried to confront him..." Castiel looked down then, unable to finish his sentence out loud.

"So," Dean butted in, hoping to break Castiel out of whatever dark thoughts were giving him that look. "Why is he after you? I mean, I get wanting to keep the family together, but if you're just a civilian-"

"That's the other thing," Sam interjected. "Castiel has an ability, too."

Dean's eyebrows raised in surprise as he regarded the smaller man in front of him. "No kidding? Which one are you, Wolverine, Professor X, or Mystique? Oh, please be Mystique."

"None, I'm afraid," Castiel shrugged simply. "I'm a Healer."

Dean let out a low whistle.

"Well," Dean added. "No wonder they're after you."

Healers weren't exactly rare by any means- not like empaths, and especially not like Dean- but they were highly sought after because of their usefulness.

"Yes," Castiel nodded. "I played a very important part of his strategies, should he, or any of his followers, ever be injured. It was the main reason he kept me so close by."

"Until recently," Sam mused. "What was your plan there, anyway? After you left, were you just going to stay hidden?"

Castiel glanced away almost sheepishly before answering.

"It was a miracle I got even that far," he muttered and met Sam's gaze again. "His group has expanded, and he had grown very formidable. As much as I wished to, I had no way of stopping him, not by myself."

"Well," Dean chimed in with a smirk. "Good news, looks like you're not by yourself anymore."

Dean got up then to grab a water bottle from the mini-fridge. He leaned against the wall and hovered just outside of the conversation, listening as Sam and Castiel swapped more information, and corrected rumors about the other. When Castiel started explaining some of the powers of Raphael's closest followers, Dean voiced something that had been sitting at the back of his mind.

"Alright," Dean cut in. "I don't wanna rock the boat here, and I'm glad you're willing to help us and all," he flashed Sam a look before continuing. "But Raphael, he's- I mean, he's your _brother_. Look, I get it, you don't like what he's doing, and you have some, uh... _tension_ between the two of you right now, but you have loyalties. Push comes to shove, if it comes down to it, and you have to make a decision- how do we know you won't side with family in the end?"

Castiel looked down at that. He took a while to think his answer through, but when he meet Dean's gaze again, he looked resolute.

"I used to have a large family. Many brothers and sisters and cousins. I was very close with them, and a few of us were born with abilities. After Michael was gone, we started to fall apart, and it was Raphael who took over as head of the family. He cast off anyone who wasn't gifted, while being very strict with those of us who were."

Castiel paused again, and it was clear talking about his brother was very difficult for him, but he carried on. "We didn't want to join him, or help in his plans, but those of us who refused- we never saw again. It didn't matter that we were brothers, to him, we were the ends to a means. I know I have a loyalty to family, but as far as I'm concerned, Raphael is no longer one of us. He tore our family apart. If I can help take him down, if I can save the few members of my family I have left, I will do it. I know I will side with family in the end, but Raphael, as far as I'm concerned, is no longer my brother."

Dean did need to glance over at Sam, didn't need to seem him give him a curt nod, didn't have to be able to sense his emotions to know that Castiel was telling the truth. There was a small pause before Dean clapped his hands together.

"So where do we start?"

"Well," Sam said looking up at him. "I was thinking Bela."

* * *

It wasn't exactly a secret how Dean felt about Bela; no matter how many chances they gave her, she would always find some way to screw them over, whether it be something serious like giving away their location, or petty like stealing from them. After a short not-quite-argument between the brothers, Dean finally caved; they could really use her help on this, and besides, she did owe them.

So that afternoon, Sam went out to the local town to get in contact with her- they knew better than to call her from their safe house where she could track it; needing her help did not equal trusting her. This left Dean alone with Castiel to talk through some of the kinks in their ideas, and try to form some semblance of a plan. Dean sat on the end of the bed, watching Castiel file through some of the papers the Winchesters had gathered on Raphael's whereabouts from where he sat at the table.

It was while Castiel was drawing out some maps of Raphael's favorite hideout that Dean asked him something that had been sitting at the back of his mind.

"So how does it work, exactly?" Castiel looked at him with scrunched eyebrows and tilted his head, so Dean elaborated. "Your healing. Like, correct me if I'm wrong, but I heard Healers usually took on the ailments they cured. You're looking pretty healthy for someone who was forced to treat his brother's battle wounds."

Most people knew about Healers, how they had short life spans because of the way they healed- by removing the victim's injury, and adopting it themselves. Most Healers didn't make it past their mid-twenties, but Castiel had to be thirty at least. Castiel gave a little 'oh' face, as if he were expecting another question, but was not surprised by the one Dean had asked.

"Some are that way," he said with a shrug. "You're thinking of the more common form of a Healer. There are different types. Like you and your brother- both being Empaths, but having different abilities- there are different variations of Healers as well."

This was news to Dean; he had always just imagined all Healers could just- well, heal.

"So, like," Dean pondered. "Some can cure illness, and others can just fix broken bones or something?"

Castiel chuckled slightly at that.

"I don't think so, no," he said. "I'm pretty sure all Healers can treat most ailments."

"What do you mean, then?" Dean asked? "What variation are you?"

"I'm not sure if there is a name for it," he said after a pause. "I've never heard of anyone besides myself who had this particular variation, so I might be an isolated case. But the main difference between my abilities and those of the Common Healer is the way we react to a healing. Like you said, most Healers adopt the problems they are healing for themselves physically. Where as for myself, it's more... abstract than that."

At Dean's continued confused look, Castiel elaborated.

"I don't adopt a victim's injuries, I adopt their personalities."

A silent moment passed between them as Dean's brain tried to work out the meaning of what Castiel had just told him.

"Personalities?" he asked. He knew they were supposed to be working, knew it was important to finish the maps before Sam got back, but how was Dean supposed to just ignore this new information? And besides, if Castiel was going to be working with them, this was something Dean ought to know. "What, like, you start acting like that person? You're telling me if you healed Paris Hilton, you'd wear pink and have a thing for tiny dogs in purses?"

Castiel smirked just slightly at Dean's description.

"Actually, in a manner of speaking, it is possible," he said. "It differs from person to person, but I usually pick up some of their mannerisms, or bad habits, even thought patterns. One time, I had an obsession with Twitter, and would constantly update absurd things about my day, even when I wasn't doing anything. I managed to get quite a few followers, too. Once, I had a really bad 'God complex,' and was convinced it was up to me to right the wrongs in the world. There was even a time when I thought an Angel was trying to use me as a vessel."

Castiel laughed at that, but Dean could hear the slight bitterness in it before he sighed and continued.

"When I heal someone with an ability, I can sometimes 'borrow' it, so to speak. Luckily, the effect is only temporary, and it all goes away after a few days."

"A few days' worth of dealing with other peoples' crazy?" Dean said, his eyebrows raised. "That's gotta suck."

"Understatement," Castiel agreed. "But it's usually manageable. If it's only one person at a time, with minor injuries, I can mostly separate myself from them. But when it's multiple people at once, it becomes very difficult for me. The larger the ailment I am curing, the more of them I take."

Castiel looked down at his hands, and Dean recognized the gesture; it was the same he made when he reflected on using his own powers- on who he touched, what damage might have been done. To an extend, Castiel probably knew how Dean felt in the aftermath of altering someone- at least, he understood more than Sam. Most people with touch-based abilities tended to give something of themselves up in place of their "gifts." For Dean, it was self-confidence. For Castiel, if he had to guess, it was probably identity security.

In using their powers, they both had to struggle to stay themselves.

"When I help several people who have gifts within the same 24-hours, I absorb their unique powers. When Raphael found out, he wanted to run tests- experiments- see how much I could use, if I could combine or change them. Luckily, Michael forbade such things when I told him how hard it was for me to keep my sanity, to stay in my own head, when I had other people's traits and emotions overtaking my own," Castiel sighed. "But of course, the moment Raphael took over, the experiments started up again, more aggressively than before."

Dean watched Castiel as he talked; he didn't need Sam's ability to know how much Castiel needed to vent this out. It was clear the Healer had been holding this in for a long time, and Dean just sat still and listened, letting the story continue.

"Raphael gathered up his most prized followers, and I became a sort of ability-cocktail; I could use all of their powers in any variation I chose for a couple of days. But it wasn't having their abilities that was driving me insane, it was all the different personalities; I started to lose myself to them after a while. I became unstable. Many of the people I healed were scared for their lives, others missed their families, some were excited with Raphael's plans, one of them was grieving the loss of their dog, and I felt _all_ of it. So many different personalities in my head, each one demanding that I become one of them. I didn't know where I ended, and they began. It was... exhausting to say the least."

Castiel looked up then with a start, as if suddenly remembering Dean was in the room.

"Sorry," he said with a slight blush. "I didn't mean to ramble."

"It's fine," Dean replied, waving his hand towards him. "It's actually pretty eye-opening."

"Yes, Raphael can be exceptionally cruel, whether you're his brother or not."

"No," Dean shook his head. "No, not him, I meant about you."

Castiel gave him a confused look at that, tilting his head (adorably) at him. "What about me?"

Dean ran his black-gloved hand over the back of his neck, ruffling his hair as he tried to turn his thoughts into sentences.

"Uh, you know," he stalled. "I just mean- I kinda get it." When Castiel continued to squint his eyes at him, Dean, reluctantly, clarified. "You can heal people, and you can borrow other people's powers- sounds like it should be pretty cool when you just explain it like that- but every 'gift' has it's drawbacks, you know? It's never just that easy."

Castiel gave him a barely-there smile. "I've never met someone else who understood that before. What about you? What are your 'drawbacks?'"

It was Dean's turn to start; he wasn't expecting the conversation to turn to him, but he couldn't blame Castiel for his curiosity- the man had been on the receiving end of his powers just recently, after all. He lad accepted by now that Castiel's eyes were just naturally bright.

"Um, well," Dean scratched at a spot above his eyebrow, thinking of how he was going to explain.

"When I use my 'gift,' it isn't- I mean, it's..." Dean sighed. "I know how it sounds to most people- with just a touch, I can get almost anything I want. Free food, get into any concert, talk my way out of speeding tickets- yeah, it has it's uses. I can get whatever I want, whenever I want it, and it just seems like it would be awesome, but trust me," Dean paused, stopping himself before going into a full-on rant.

"It's not," he finished lamely.

Even with him averting his eyes, he could tell Castiel was watching him, studying him. When the silence stretched on for so long, and Dean thought they could switch topics and return to the maps, Castiel said, "No. I imagine it wouldn't be."

Dean looked up at him with something close to surprise, because that wasn't something people usually agreed to. He usually got, "_Oh, don't be so dramatic,_" or "_Don't exaggerate, it can't be that bad,_" or "_Why are you complaining? I'd do anything to have your powers!_"

Castiel continued. "You must have a lot of self-control not to take advantage of something like that. I am not so sure I could, in your place. It must be difficult for you." Dean huffed out a small breath through his nose at that.

"You have no idea," Dean said, shaking his head. "Sometimes it's- it's really hard to say, 'no.'" He looked at Castiel contemplatively, before thinking, '_What the hell,_' and continuing. "When I touch someone, I can_ change_ them- their emotions, their motivations, hell, even their way of _thinking_. Sure, yeah, it has it's perks," Dean said with a shrug. "And the effect doesn't last forever, but still... _No one_ should have the ability to change someone like that. It isn't natural- it's not right. It's a selfish ability."

"I don't think you're selfish, Dean," Castiel said, his voice firm, reassuring, but unexpectedly soft. "You wouldn't use your powers for self-gain. Okay, maybe with small, petty things, but not on the scale you're capable of. Raphael doesn't have half the powers that you do, and look what he's done with his. The fact that you have so much potential for self gain, and turn it down says volumes of your character."

For a long moment, all Dean could do was stare. It wasn't just what Castiel was saying, but how blunt and absolute he sounded. There wasn't a hint of doubt in his voice or his expression.

"Either way," he said, looking down at the floor. "It's still not a good idea for anyone to get too close to me. Literally." Dean added with a humorless laugh.

"You don't trust yourself."

It wasn't a question.

"You spend your life saving people, Dean," Castiel said with a look of determination that Dean couldn't turn away from. "You saved my life, too. If it weren't for you, I don't know what would have happened to me back there-"

"That was more Sammy than me," Dean interrupted.

"I'm not denying Sam's involvement, but he was not the one who removed me from those thugs, and he wasn't the one who convinced me to follow you here."

"Except you _didn't_ follow me here, Cas," Dean bit out. "I tricked you into coming here against your will. That's exactly what I mean, you can't trust me-"

"But that's exactly why I _do_ trust you, Dean," Castiel said. He sounded sure and patient, and spoke with the air of someone explaining something to a child. "Don't you see? You didn't do it for selfish reasons, you did it because it was the only way to get me here safely. If you hadn't, if you had to bring me here unwillingly, I could have been injured, or I might have escaped and been found by Raphael's men- Dean, if you hadn't 'tricked me,' I might be dead by now."

Dean didn't know what to say, so he settled for staring at Castiel with a mixture of disbelief and gratitude. He wanted to deny it, to convince Castiel that he was wrong. Using his powers the way he did was not deserving of gratitude, it was unnatural and corrupting. He needed to explain that in a way Castiel would understand, and maybe get him to keep his distance.

Before he had a chance to say or do anything more, however, Castiel got up from the desk chair and sat right next to Dean on the bed. In a confident motion, he reached his hand out and covered the back Dean's with his palm. Dean could feel his warm skin rub against his bare wrist where the glove ended, and his eyes flashed down in surprise to where they were touching, before looking back up to meet Castiel's; they were a beautiful, bright blue, and they held nothing but trust.

"Thank you, Dean," he said.

Something in the room sort of shifted with their proximity. Because Castiel was willingly touching him, and wasn't trying to back away; because those blue eyes looked at him with credence, and not fear or resentment; cause this person understood him, and didn't judge, or think he was something evil.

With the exception of maybe his brother, Dean had never met anyone who knew about what he could do, and still wanted to be near him. It was new to him, this feeling of being accepted by someone. Sure, he had Sam, but it just wasn't the same coming from family.

He kind of liked it.

If Dean were to think about it, he might find he kind of liked Castiel, too. Which is exactly why Dean _didn't_ think about. Suddenly, the realization dawned on him that he had been in the same room with Castiel for quite some time, now. Alone. His bare skin already against his, warm and vulnerable. Already so open to him, receptive to his ability- it would only be too easy, if he wanted to-

Abruptly, Dean stood up, murmuring something about needing to check in with Sam as he went outside.

* * *

"How'd it go?" Dean asked as his brother walked down the path from their Impala. "She in?"

"She's more than just 'in,'" Sam says. His excited expression turned to one of concern as he glanced behind Dean. "Where's Castiel? Is everything okay?"

"Huh? Oh," Dean quickly recovered; he had forgotten to put his wall up when Sam approached, and his brother must have sensed his awkward and uneasy feelings. "Yeah, he's fine. We were going over some of the maps to his brother's safe house- it's more like a lair, you should go see it."

It was a sloppy cover, he knew it, and given Sam's half-concerned, half-amused face, he knew it, too. But Sam walked into the safe house and didn't ask anymore about it, so it was a win in Dean's book.

Only years of having to block out Sam's ability could have prepared him not to look and feel so awkward when he went back into the room where Castiel was still drawing maps. They hadn't spoken since Dean walked out to 'check on Sam' an hour ago. Dean was briefly worried that Castiel would let something slip, give Sam a reason to think something happened between them, but he worried for nothing; either Castiel had a really good poker face, or he genuinely didn't think anything had happened between them.

A small voice in the back of Dean's head silently hoped for the former.

Either way, Castiel dove straight into explaining the maps to Sam once they entered the room. He didn't glance at Dean once.

"Good," Sam said after Castiel had shown him the last page. "This is going to be a big help. Thanks, Castiel."

"Anything I can do to assist," Castiel said with a small smile.

"So how'd it go with Bela?" Dean asked after a brief pause. The small talk was nice and all, but he really wanted to know what had gone down on Sam's end.

"Right," Said said, leaning back against the wall as Castiel sat back on the bed. Dean stayed where he was by the door, a comfortable amount of feet away.

They had explained enough about Bela to Castiel before Sam left to contact her, so he was well caught up with the basics; Bela was a clairvoyant who used her powers for mass amounts of self gain. Whether it was locating a person or an object, or getting valuable information from closed-off parties, she would rent out her powers if offered a high enough price.

The Winchesters did not have money or pricy objects that they could barter for her help- what they _did_ have, though was just as valuable- a debt. Sam and Dean had saved her life a year or so back, and they were looking to collect.

"Bela seems to have quite an issue with Raphael, herself," Sam started. "Turns out, after you left, Cas, he had been trying to use her to find you. He promised her a high price in return for locating you. Thing about Clairvoyants- you don't lie to them. Get this- not only was he not going to pay her, he was going to kidnap her- like he's trying to do with us."

"So," Dean added. "Ralph wants to add her to his little group of freaks? Not sure I like the idea of him getting a Clairvoyant on his team- especially not one as powerful as Bela."

"If she is on the run," Castiel asked. "How did you contact her?"

"Apparently, she's been trying to contact _us_," Sam said. "The payphone rang just as I walked up to it."

"Creepy," Dean added. "Figures, though. Bela's in trouble, the first people she goes looking for is us. If we didn't need her, I'd tell her to go screw herself."

"Unfortunately, we _do_ need her. And she gave me some good info, here." Sam took out a small notebook from his back pocket and placed it on the desk, causing Dean to leave his spot by the door to grab and read through it. Inside were various names, dates, and addresses. "Those are the predicted future locations of some of Raphael's more loyal followers, and at the end-" Dean flipped a couple of pages. "-that's where she believes Raphael himself will be, one week from now."

"Why can't she just tell us where he is now?"

"Because, Dean, that wouldn't help us. We need to get a plan together, we need to think out a course of action that will take Raphael down, and that will take time. Now, we have seven days' worth of time, and we need to use it wisely."

"Could I see that book, Dean?" Castiel asked, and Dean had to consciously keep from flinching when Castiel came up behind him and reached out a hand for it. Forgetting he was wearing gloves, Dean backed away slightly and tossed the book to him, before starting to walk out of the room.

"Where are you going?" Sam asked. "We need to start planning, I told you-"

"Yeah, yeah," Dean waved him off, grabbing his car keys from the side table next to the door. "I know, seven days, I got it. But we're not gonna be able to think right on an empty stomach. I'm getting us some food."

With that, he turned and walked up the stairs from the basement, and out of the house. As he climbed into the Impala, he leaned back against the familiar leather seat and groaned. He knew he was being a child about this; it wasn't like anything even happened between him and Castiel, all the guy did was say something nice and touch his hand, and now he could barely be in the same room as him. It was a nice moment- the things Castiel were telling him, the way he looked at him, the way he made Dean feel.

But those thoughts Dean had had when he touched his bare wrist... For a brief moment, he had felt the impulse to use his powers on Castiel. Well, it was less of an impulse, and more of an idea, a possibility his brain had entertained, but still- those thoughts were dangerous. Which meant Castiel was dangerous.

It was true he had felt a bit of a connection with the guy, but he knew himself too well; it didn't matter what Castiel said, he didn't- he _couldn't_- trust himself, not if there was even the slightest hint of temptation. Not that Castiel was a temptation, of course. Regardless, he was gonna keep his space from the dude. As much space as he could, while they lived together, and worked out a plan to kill Castiel's brother.

Should work out fine.


End file.
